Patches helped Lucian draw the map.
For all his scheming, one had to admit: anyone who could wander so far and still come back alive was unexpectedly reliable when it came to matters like this. His map was surprisingly detailed, nearly a perfect replica of the one Rya had shown them. According to him, counterfeiting was one of his proudest skills.
Naturally, he tried to convince Rya to guide him straight to Volcano Manor, hoping to hitch a ride without effort. But Rya had to remain in Liurnia, carrying out her duties as a recruiter. Thus, Patches was left with no choice but to search for the path to the Altus Plateau on his own.
Lucian, meanwhile, studied the map and set out toward the eastern shore of Liurnia. His route would take him northeast, across the bridge beside the South Raya Lucaria Gate Town, and from there he would follow the shoreline northward. His destination lay further ahead.
As he pressed on, strange figures began to appear.
They had round heads and bulbous bodies, their large, black, glistening eyes staring unblinking. Their silvery-white skin gleamed faintly in the light. Most wore only the simplest of clothes, though a few, bulkier than the rest, went bare-chested. Their weapons were crude—little more than wooden clubs and shields.
Across the Lands Between, only one race matched this description; the Albinaurics.
They were artificial beings, shunned by most of the realm's inhabitants. Records suggested that they were created by the Academy of Raya Lucaria, who had unearthed remnants of Nox techniques from long ago. Their flowing silver blood and the glistening Silver Tears were said to share the same origin.
The first generation of Albinaurics still retained a human-like form. They could speak and reason, and even possessed talents—especially in sorcery and archery. Their skill with the bow was particularly renowned. Yet with age, their legs would wither away, leaving them crippled.
The frog-like creatures Lucian now encountered, however, were the second generation of Albinaurics—designed as cheap fodder for battle. Weak, malformed, incapable of speech, their very existence was one of cruelty. Even so, they banded together, trudging through the shallows of the lake for reasons Lucian could not immediately discern.
He watched from afar as they joined another group gathered around a fallen woman. Raising his spyglass, Lucian saw that she was already dead. Her features were human, and she wore the garb of the first-generation Albinaurics. Beside her lay a bow.
The second-generation Albinaurics circled her, guarding her body and performing gestures that looked like mourning rites. Though their appearances differed, they still recognized her as kin.
Lucian did not disturb them. He took a detour, giving them a wide berth.
Though his journey into Liurnia was primarily for Ranni's sake, the sight of these beings stirred another thought in him. If such diverse artificial life existed across the Lands Between, could a body not also be fashioned for Melina?
She had a soul, but no flesh. If a vessel could be created for her to inhabit… was it truly impossible?
The Albinaurics' bodies were crude and unfit, but other methods came to mind—the Mimic Tear of Nokron, or the Great Rune of the unborn amber egg held by Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon. Both were flawed, incomplete. Yet still, far superior to the Albinaurics' crude craft.
The Mimic Tear was unreliable, an ancient art long severed from its source. Even the few remnants left were unstable, wandering off on their own. Rennala's amber egg could grant "rebirth," but only at a terrible cost: a shattered mind, fragile life, and swift death. Hers was an incomplete ritual.
Still, if one only needed to sculpt a soulless vessel—a shell—perhaps there was a chance. Melina's spirit would not need to undergo rebirth, and thus would not suffer the curse of its flaws.
The Great Rune hidden within Rennala's amber egg—the Great Rune of the Unborn—was said to complete the rebirth process. If he could restore its power, perhaps it could shape a perfect vessel. All that remained was to find a way for Melina's soul to dwell within it.
Lucian mulled over the idea. He cherished their present bond—soul to soul—but deep down, he yearned for more: to walk side by side with her in the flesh. Still, such a matter would require patience and absolute certainty before it could be attempted.
For now, his thoughts turned to the Albinauric Village. The massacre there weighed on his mind. Gideon Ofnir, in his pursuit of the Haligtree Secret Medallion, had orchestrated a slaughter that reduced the village to ruin. Lucian could not allow another tragedy like Castle Morne to repeat itself. If Gideon were to seize the medallion, nothing good could come of it.
His musings were broken by a faint cry.
"Help me… please…"
The voice was weak, trembling, barely clinging to life.
Lucian turned toward the sound. At first, he saw nothing. Then, along a cliffside near the eastern shore, faint wisps of gray mist parted to reveal a narrow crevice. A pale-faced young woman leaned against the rocks. She had concealed herself with a minor spell, which she released as soon as she saw him.
The magic reminded Lucian of the simple illusions he had seen before—like Boc the Seamster's tree disguise.
The woman was drenched, her blonde hair tangled and plastered to her hollow, haggard face. Though young—likely only in her late teens or early twenties—her frail state made her seem older. She was no warrior, more like a child untested by the world.
Lucian had no memory of her from his past knowledge, but she was in need. To turn away would not be his way.
He rode up, dismounted, and approached the crevice.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
The girl flinched, her words stumbling out.
"I… I was attacked. He tried to kill me—the one who had seemed so kind before…"
Lucian steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. "Calm yourself. You're safe now. No one will harm you while I am here. Tell me—what is your name?"
Her breathing slowed. Though fear lingered on her face, she managed to answer.
"My name is Lanya. I serve Master Diallos."
"We reunited in Liurnia, but we were separated again in the lakes. It's been days. I wandered, lost… then I met a Tarnished who seemed kind. But he turned on me without warning, nearly ending my life. By trickery, I escaped, and hid here until now."
Lanya. The name was unfamiliar, but Diallos was not. Lucian remembered him from the Roundtable Hold—a man bound by his search for his loyal retainer. From his words, their bond had been deep, perhaps even childhood companions.
Lucian glanced at the stone behind her. Dried, blackened blood stained the surface. Her wound was in her back, and it was not light.
In the game, players only ever found her dead. Another side character lost to tragedy. But here she was, still alive. Another soul rescued.
Lucian sighed. "It seems this lake has a habit of hiding people in its waters."
"Turn around," he said. "I'll treat your wounds."
At once, Lanya recoiled, trembling. It was clear the betrayal she had suffered left its scar. Perhaps the one who attacked her had done so only after gaining her trust. That she had survived such a strike was miracle enough.
So Lucian drew out a vial of curative aromatic, handing it to her instead. "Use this yourself."
She sprinkled it over her wounds. Slowly, her color returned.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was so afraid…"
"It's all right. Rest now. Then tell me everything."
He offered her water and rations from Torrent's pack. She accepted, though she barely touched them.
"I went to those ruins," she explained weakly, "hoping to wait for Master Diallos. There I met the Tarnished who betrayed me. His strength was not great—otherwise, I would not have escaped. That must be why he struck me from behind. I hid as best I could, but my wound worsened… until you came."
She gave a bitter smile. "I feared you might be the same. But if I hadn't called out, I would have died here, whether by my wounds or by another hand."
Lucian nodded. "I understand."
If that was the case, then perhaps he should pay a visit to the Roundtable Hold and see whether Diallos was still searching for her. Each time they parted, Diallos returned there to inquire after her.
For now, Lucian found a nearby Site of Grace. He instructed Lanya to wait there. Since she could not perceive Grace, he summoned Stormhawk Deenh to guard her.
From the ashes, gray light wove itself into form, and the stormhawk knight appeared once more. With their strong resonance, Deenh could manifest with a good portion of his former might—enough to keep Lanya safe.
Only then did Lucian return to the Roundtable Hold.
Yet after searching, he found no trace of Diallos. Perhaps he was still scouring the land. So Lucian left word with one of the Tarnished who had pledged to him, instructing them to watch for Diallos and report his arrival.
With that, Lucian returned to Liurnia. Until Diallos came, he would see to Lanya's safety.
There was a place nearby well-suited for such: the Church of Vows.
There dwelled Miriel, the Pastor of Vows—the great tortoise cleric.
As the saying went: Cranes live for a thousand years, turtles for ten thousand years.
Unique across the Lands Between, Miriel was a talking beast, blessed with wisdom and longevity. He bore witness to the union of Radagon the Red and Rennala of the Full Moon, and tended the Church of Vows, where both Erdtree and moon were revered.
He could teach both sorceries and incantations—a sign that he surely wielded power himself. Lucian did not believe otherwise. After all, how could one teach what one did not know?